


Some mistakes were built to last

by Moonshine_Givens



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshine_Givens/pseuds/Moonshine_Givens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim got an asshole boyfriend and friends full of shit. I mean, what could Raylan Givens possible know about falling for the wrong boy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some mistakes were built to last

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Some mistakes were built to last](https://archiveofourown.org/works/640981) by [sadz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadz/pseuds/sadz)



> Hello there, Gunslingers! Tonight's attraction is Tim's misery. Oh, and Raylan's frustration. Yeah.   
> EDIT: the lovely shadowolfhunter was kind enough to fix all my mistakes and be my beta. Gotta say she did an amazing work here: my English was pretty pitiful. SO MANY THANKS! Again, hope you enjoy this work!

Tim wasn’t taking anyone’s bullshit those days. Not Rachel’s, not Raylan’s, not Art’s. Not Art’s especially. Asshole asked to see him in his office and started a “father and son” talk of sorts about how it’s okay to be who he is, and that everyone would still love him or some crap like that.

Tim knows it’s okay to be gay. He – quite unlike Art – has been gay for his whole life, and he’s being doing fine, for fucks sake. It’s just dick, not crystal meth.

He’s not taking Rachel’s bullshit either, even though she kinda, sorta, may have a point. At least, she’s not trying to make it better for him; in fact, she might be actively trying to make it worse. She came out of nowhere, got him against a wall and started talking, right in his face, about how stupid he was for not telling her anything.

And what the hell was that about? He didn’t want to fuck her, she didn’t want to fuck him, what is it to her?

“Because I thought we were friends, dickhead. Also, you could have told me you had fallen in love with a guy who could expose you not only in your job, but for the whole damn country, Tim!”

Well… damn. She could have a point there. Only, truth was, Tim didn’t know that that would be Jack’s next genius movement. He didn’t exactly call before going ahead and publishing “Shining Star: loving a gay US Marshal”. What would he do, call Rachel and talk about how he was head over heels with some New York journalist he got to see once a month? Yeah, and then they could bond and maybe go shopping, sure. No, he wasn’t that kind of gay, and he was pretty sure Rachel wasn’t that kind of woman. So yeah, her talk was bullshit, just like Art’s.

By the time Raylan tried to reach him, he was tired as hell. Everyone was whispering about him not behind his back, but right in his face, can you believe it?, until he finally got tired and yelled “Yeah, goddammit, the gay marshal who was once a sniper and works for the Kentucky office is me, okay? Now go do your work or go buy the book, I ain’t telling you shit” to the office in general. Because, let’s face it, what doubt was left, with a description like that? Please, if anyone in the office didn’t know it was him, thwn it was time the whole country started to review its trust in the US Marshals. Tim only said out loud what everyone already knew.

So yeah, by the time Raylan thought about having a nice, probably sappy chat with him, Tim was done, 620% done with all the bullshit in the great state of Kentucky. When Raylan opened with a “See, Tim, I understand…”, Tim just got up and left, without saying a word. Because there couldn’t possibly be a way that Raylan understood shit.

Tim was fucking regretting every decision he made in his life, but that wasn’t because of people whispering about him or anyone knowing he wanted the d. No, damn it, it wasn’t about that. It was about… about… about falling for a fucking guy, falling hard, enough that you couldn’t see he was destroying you, turning you into a fool, and you keep on falling until he fucks with your life. Fucks hard, harder than he ever fucked your ass. He was regretting falling for the wrong guy, and he was especially hurt that, after all that mess… he still wanted.

Fuck, indeed.

So, Jack was an asshole, and married-again-divorced-again Raylan with a kid on his way was delusional if he thought he could understand even the beginning of the story. Maybe Raylan should have bought the book, after all. The New York Times said it was a real “inside look”. Tim wanted to say “inside my ass”, but then again…

Yeah. Not taking anyone’s bullshit, keeping it cool, and walking away anytime one of his colleges decided they should have a heart-to-heart. Nice plan.

God, it was only Monday. That was going to be a long week.

 

By the time Friday came, Raylan and Tim were on speaking terms again, and working together. Raylan was nice enough to never comment on it, even when they crossed some journalists trying to interview Tim. Tim himself was pretty sure he had enough of journalists for a life time, so thanks, but no, thanks.

The fugitive they were chasing wasn’t exactly hard to find – jackass was hiding on his old girlfriend’s apartment. Tim and Raylan were off the hook earlier, and it was a nice, warm afternoon, girls walking around on shorts and little kids with ice cream cones. Raylan bought himself some vanilla ice cream and charmed the cashier. All was well in the world, and it was nice to be outside the office.

“Buy you a drink?”

Tim was sure that, anytime now, things would get comfortable enough that if Raylan ever asked a question like that, he could playfully answer “You’re cute, but not my type.” He would say it with straight face, and Raylan would give him a small laugh, and it would be good. Right now, he’s not ready to do it, not yet. Not because he doesn’t think Raylan will laugh, but the words are just not coming out. Yet.

“Yeah, sure. Not sure if I wanna go to our bar, though. Can we drink anywhere else?”

“Don’t wanna drink with our asshole friends?” Raylan didn’t expect an answer, just walked towards the car. “Don’t worry, I know just the place.”

Raylan drove for a long time, and as the afternoon slowly died Tim could see they were not going back to Lexington. In fact, he was pretty sure that particular road led to…

“Forgot to mention” Raylan said quickly when Tim opened his mouth “I was thinking about drinkin’ something in Harlan. Nice place there, I got see someone anyway. Do you mind?”

“Well, since we are almost there already, not particularly, no.”

Besides, he was kind of curious to find out what would bring Raylan to Harlan of his own will – it’s not like the guy loved his hometown.

They get into town and Tim can already tell they’re heading to Boyd Crowder’s bar. Ain’t that something? People excuse themselves the minute Raylan’s hat is visible, and the music can be heard perfect now since everyone stopped talking. It was all were western, as it usually is with dear, overdramatic Raylan.

Crowder is in a corner, talking with a skinny man, looking like he’s telling a very long, very complicated tale that got his audience hooked. Ava is the counter serving bourbon and being flirted at by some old man, laughing all the way through. Both look happy and relaxed.

Tim is ready for the show to start: any second now, Boyd’s going to excuse himself and walk towards Raylan, greet him with a hug – like they are indeed old friends – and say something that will get Raylan seeing red in 0.5 seconds. It’s a good show, Tim is a big fan, but today he kind of wished he could drink in a quiet corner and not have to stop Raylan from assaulting his childhood nemesis. Or whatever.

Surprisingly, the show never comes. Raylan only nods to Boyd, touching his hat, and Boyd gives him a full smile and maybe a wink, before turning back to the skinny guy to resume his story. Ava smiles in their direction, and that’s it.

Hm. Really? Lucky day for Timmy.

Tim has the bad feeling his being set up, but then again, he’s been drinking himself out of house and home those last few days. He’s more than glad to let someone else pays for all the drinking.

Maybe he should send Jack the bill.

So they sit in a corner, and some girl – not Ava – comes around to take their order. She’s ugly and probably a hooker, but Tim couldn’t care less. They start drinking and no one comes around, no one tells a word, and the music stays nice.

Every once in a while, something appears on their table that they didn’t order. Twice it’s chips, once it’s a truly spectacular fried chicken, and then more chips. They know it is Boyd who’s sending, of course, but Tim wonders why the man apparently wants to keep them sober – either that or Boyd is actually the witch in Hansel and Gretel, and wants them fat before he eats them. The best one, in Tim’s opinion, was the two bottles of water their waitress brought, looking apologetic. Raylan gives her a friendly smile, says “It’s fine, dear.” – drinks half the bottle in one, and gives Boyd the middle finger from across the room, without turning. They can hear the man laughing over the music.

It’s nice.

 

“…and then she said ‘Sir, my skin could be hot pink for all I care, I would still be arresting your ass’”

Raylan laughed freely, downing his glass again. Tim toke a moment to look around – it seemed like they were the only costumers left. Their waitress was just leaving with the skinny guy, and Ava seemed to be closing things up. Boyd were behind the counter, pretending to fix some bottles, far enough Tim was certain he couldn’t hear them talking.

“Think we should leave?” Raylan makes a sound that should mean something like “No, not really.” “Think we’ll have trouble?”

Tim, by that time, was drunk enough he kind of wished they ran into some sort of fist fight. It would be terrible and demeaning for all of them, but it would also be fun. Ava passed by, waving and smiling at them.

“No, don’t think so. Not today.” Raylan eats a cold chip. “So, a New Yorker, hm?”

If Tim was any sober, he would have left the moment those words were out of Raylan’s mouth. As it was, he was left staring openly to the man, quite speechless.

“Can’t imagine what it’s like to date someone from New York.” Raylan kept going, as if this was just another topic. “But then again, my boy was from Kentucky, turns out I’m not very adventurous with man.”

“Your…” try again, Tim, swallow, open your mouth and try again. “Your boy? I mean, you had a boy?”

“Oh yeah, for quite some time.” Raylan said, laughing. “We were together years ago, when I was just a kid. Before I left Harlan.”

Raylan dated a guy. Another man. With a penis. What kind of man could have dated Raylan Givens, super hero Raylan Givens, and better yet, dated him when he was just a kid, before he left…

And then it clicked. Of course. That’s why they were drinking in Boyd’s bar.

Tim couldn’t stop laughing.

“Oh Raylan, Raylan, please” he wasn’t beyond begging “Please tell me you didn’t date Crowder!”

“What?” Raylan said, laughing as well. “He had more hair back then, shut up.” He then sobered up. “Crazy ass son of a bitch, always was. He was the only reason I got into the mines, you know? Helen was always sayin’ I should leave Kentucky, and I kept askin’ him to come ‘long, but he… he wouldn’t come. He said that this was our home, and made me stay. Arlo was beating the shit out of me every day, my mommy was dead, my paycheck was shit and I was workin’ on the mines, and I stayed anyway, because of him. And then one day, the goddamn cherry on the top, there was a cave in. He saved my life that day, but boy, I wouldn’t even be in the mines wasn’t for him. I could have died, age 19, without knowin’ shit ‘bout the world, ‘cause I was head over heels with that boy. Shit, I don’t think I even cared. I would have come back as well, but he told me I should leave. ‘That ain’t no life for you, Raylan Givens’, he said, preached, as he does. But he could have told me to follow him to hell and back and I would have gone, Tim. Dead at age 19, that’s what it could have been.”

The smile and the easiness Raylan had kept through the night were gone now, replaced with the bitterness Raylan reserved especially for Harlan. Tim didn’t knew what to say, how to get Raylan out of that hole. He was, thankful, relieved from trying to cheer him up, since Boyd himself was suddenly right in front of them.

“Hello, Raylan.” The way he says that name, rolling it around his tongue for so long, like it was a pleasure just to have it out of his mouth… Tim felt like a idiot for never figuring it out before. “Deputy Gutterson, how are you on this fine evening?”

“Living the dream, Mister Crowder.”

“Oh, hope you are, my friend. My small establishment could provide you with everything both of you needed?”

Raylan snorted, an ugly sound. “And some, Boyd. But thank you for the chicken.”

“Oh, I knew you would like that, Raylan. Thought I should keep you both sobers, don’t want any officer of the law unprotected and vulnerable here in these parts.” Boyd smiles at Raylan again, and then looks long and hard at Tim. Okay, here it comes. “So, deputy Gutterson…”

“Tim, please.” If they’re gonna talk about it, first name bases are in order.

“Tim, word is you had a bit of heartache those days. That book, what was it called? ‘Tinkle tinkle little star?’”

“Ain’t nothing little about it.” Tim deadpanned and hey, how about that? He could tell a joke about it, at least to Crowder, who was now laughing quite openly.

“I will take your word for it, Deputy. We can really help who we fall for, can we? Let me tell you a story about some boy you may or may not know…”

“Please, Boyd, do you have to?” Raylan pleaded, with not much heat, only annoyance.

“Hush, now, Raylan, your co-worker needs to know what kind of mess you got me into on daily basis. Once, we must have been seventeen… or was it sixteen, Raylan, I can never recall…”

“Can’t tell if you don’t tell the story, Boyd.”

“It was a rhetorical question, boy, hush. So we must have been sixteen and my daddy was finally starting to trust me. He gave me a package coming from Misses Megs Bennett, and I don’t suppose I have to reveal what kind of content it carried, right, Deputy Gutterson?”

“I’m pretty sure I can let my imagination run wild on that.”

“I’m surely glad to know I won’t have to confess anything tonight. So my daddy gives me the package, and tells me I should meet up with some Texans just outside of Harlan by six o’clock.”

“Oh Lord, not that story.” Raylan sighs and rolls his eyes, and this is already fun for Tim.

“Deputy, he’s only mad I’m tellin’ you this ‘cause he knows that he’s the one to blame.”

“That a fact?”

“Yes it is, Raylan, and you know it. So I was just walking around in town, waiting for the right time to come, when Raylan here suddenly appears. And he starts talking about how there was something really important he wanted to show me by the lake, and that would only take a minute, no Boyd, you ain’t gonna be late, c’mon boy, I need you…”

“Now, Boyd, I never told you I needed you. Never.”

“Maybe not with your clothes on.” Boyd winked at a Raylan that was equally pissed and amused. “Can you guess what happened next, Tim?”

“You got late.”

“Yes Deputy, I got pretty late indeed. By the time I looked at my clock those Texans would be half way back home. I couldn’t very well tell my daddy the reason why I didn’t show up, could I? So I emptied Mag’s package in the lake, just like that. The first time my father trusted me something and I had to throw that trust down the lake.”

Fuck. “What did your daddy do?”

At that, Raylan laughed, bitter and small. “What do you think, Tim?”

“Yeah, daddy wasn’t happy.” Boyd averted his eyes for just a moment, but when he looked back – at Raylan, of course – the smile he had was something else. “But I got tell you, deputy, even as I was on the ER gettin’ my broken arm fixed, only thing I could think of was how that boy had a talented mouth on him.”

Raylan stopped, and it was clear in his eyes he wasn’t think about Boyd’s broken arm (and about that: honestly, Tim could understand hot sex that makes you stupid, but a broken arm? Really? No mouth was worth it.). Tim figured he could either open his mouth or watch the Harlan boys eyefucking each other for the rest of the night. Hm, not his idea of fun.

“So, after all this time…”

“After all this time, what?” Raylan could finally tear his eyes away from Boyd.

“You two… you know.” Subtle, Tim, way to go.

“We two what?” Raylan asked again, but Tim could tell now he understood just fine. “You think between arrestin’ him and shootin’ him and gettin’ punched by him, that I had the time to fuck him as well?”

“Me and Raylan are just friends since he came back to Kentucky. He hasn’t being very affectionate to me since then.”

“Oh, no!” Tim yells, certain he’s drunk now. “Twenty years apart and you haven’t kissed him hello, Raylan?”

“He belongs to Ava now.” answered Raylan, serious. “Besides, we weren’t going to relive those days, what good could it bring?”

“Oh, Raylan, c’mon, one kiss!” Tim was suddenly very invested in this. “It has been twenty years, and a kiss is not cheating. Raylan, you brought me here, and now I’m kind of curious. C’mon, don’t be shy.”

Tim could see Raylan trying to find the right answer in Boyd, but the man wasn’t giving anything. After a couple of really long, really awkward seconds, Boyd seemed to finally take pity on all of them and made a small movement with his shoulders, a type of shrug that Tim was going to translate as “I don’t care if you don’t care.” Raylan sighed and leaned forward.

The table was between them, and both had to lean over it. Raylan’s hand was in Boyd’s hair, pulling, get stuck between those dark locks, bringing him closer. And they were touching very slowly, very quietly, but at the same time the kiss had a brutal force of something wild that wasn’t quite controlled. It was beautiful.

Ugh. Apparently, Tim was that kind of gay.

They parted, a sigh escaping Raylan’s lips. His voice was really low, but since Tim was right beside him, he could hear him anyway, repeating his earlier words: “You belong to Ava, now”.

“Yes”, Boyd whispered back, hands on Raylan’s chest, pushing him away, regret in his eyes. “You boys drive safe on your way home.”

They were out of Boyd’s bar shortly after that. Tim could tell Raylan wasn’t all with him on their way back, but there wasn’t much he could do, so he just kept talking about anything he could think of. When they were finally back in Lexington – only alive because God is merciful, since Raylan was just as drunk as Tim – Raylan told him:

“I’m not telling you I understand everything about the thing you got with the journalist. I’m telling you I understand quite a lot about stupid mistakes, and of lovi… caring about an asshole. I understanding havin’ a terrible taste in boys. I’m also telling you… it could be worst. At least yours didn’t tattoo a swastika on his damn arm.”

Tim looked in Raylan’s eyes, and they were dark as coal, just as the day Raylan had shot Boyd through the chest. All that time, those years away, and he comes back to find Boyd a broken thing, insane and lost, pain and death. Boyd Crowder, explosion and hate and fire, the known criminal Boyd Crowder, the killer and robber and destroyer Boyd Crowder. Boyd was chaos and tears, and still, Raylan wanted.

He wanted and it was clear as day, and Boyd knew it as well.

Yeah, Tim silently agreed. Things could be worse.

**Author's Note:**

> So, is it really bad? Yes, no? Anyway, you wanna reach me, my tumblr is: ohthati.tumblr.com ! Thanks for reading!


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